Old Wounds
by Unmarked
Summary: Commander Cousland radiated restraint. Exactly what she was restraining…he's intrigued, to say the least. "Lines of Succession" companion-ish fic. Cousland, Anders, Nathaniel, etc. Reviews are adored beyond all reason, positive or negative.


**Disclaimer: Bioware owns it…I just play in their awesome world.**

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**Old Wounds  
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Anders wasn't quite sure what to make of his Commander. In the few months following his conscription, she was a rather stoic presence at Vigil's Keep, beautiful and utterly out of reach. She radiated control but he was fairly certain that he saw a fair amount of restraint as well. Exactly _what_ she was restraining…he's intrigued, to say the least.

Their numbers were few in the beginning, but the Commander, Sibylla, was adamant that they spend as much time training as possible. Anders was put in charge of the mage recruits, while she and Oghren saw to the sword and shield types. Nathaniel had but one roguish character to train, a willowy wisp of an elf who was bloody _fast_ with her daggers, though her name escaped him entirely. Crista…Cristine…Cristiel? Something with a C. It was strange to see Nathaniel engaging in the up close and personal kind of combat- he and Anders normally shared space a fair distance _away_ from the fighting while Oghren and the Commander charged in to wipe the floor with their opponents. He wasn't as good with back stabby stealth as he was with a bow, but still…a formidable opponent. Anders certainly didn't want to be on the pointy end of his knife.

At the end of the day, mages, warriors, and dagger twirlers alike gathered together to test their mettle. He was particularly proud of Neria Surana, a Circle mage whom they conscripted from Aeonar, as she swept Roderick off his feet with her staff and blasted him into submission with a crackling bolt of lightning.

"I yield!"

It was all he could do to contain the laughter that bubbled up. The poor oaf looked positively _terrified_ of Neria, and rightly so. Anders remembered her well from the Circle and the little elf packed an impressive arsenal of magic even back _then_. Aeonar hadn't done much more than sharpen the already rough edges.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Roderick. Mages are nothing to scoff at. They can drain the life from you before you even _think_ to raise your sword. Darkspawn emissaries are not half so kind as Neria has been to you."

"Understood, Commander."

"Anders…would you care to indulge me for a moment?"

He was all cocky bravado when he joined her in the middle of the group.

"Don't hold back." There was the first hint of a smile that he had ever seen cross her face and he was even _more_ intrigued to find a kindred arrogant spirit within the Commander.

"I wouldn't _dream_ of it."

She circled him with her sword and dagger drawn, which wasn't quite right…she was missing the shield she normally carried.

"This is hardly a fair fight, Commander. I have you at a disadvantage _already_." He said, nodding to her shieldless arm.

"Just you worry about _yourself_. I'm more than capable of besting you without it."

"We'll see about that, won't we?"

She feigned left and he quickly blasted the area with icy cold. He was ready to gloat, but she was nowhere near the area he'd been paying attention to and he faltered back when the hilt of a dagger slammed into his chest. Damn, but she was _fast_.

"Still think you have the upper hand?"

How in the name of the Maker had she gotten so far away _already_? The Wardens around them had moved back to give them a wider circle and she prowled back and forth on the opposite end like a predatory cat with a wide smile, eyes firmly fixed on her prey. So she wanted to _play_, did she? Anders brought the tip of his staff down to the ground with a wide arc and sent a wall of roaring flames rocketing towards her. She tumbled out of the way but he was more than ready for her when she darted towards him. The Commander was suddenly caught in a crushing force that held her taught like bowstring and Anders, not one to let such an opportunity pass him by, thrust his free hand out and hit her with a ball of ice that brought her to her knees once she was released from the crushing prison.

"Do you yield?"

He was secure in his victory after such a short skirmish and that proved to be his undoing. She was on him before he could _blink_, his staff falling to the wayside when her sword smacked against it. All he saw was a blur of light skin and dark up-swept hair whirling towards his back and something hard hit the back of his thigh. He was unceremoniously dropped to the ground and blinked up at his commander as she straddled his chest, firmly pinning his arms against the dirt with her knees. Something cold was laying against his throat and he knew then with certainty that she had him dead to rights.

"Do _you_ yield?"

"I suppose I do…but only because I have you _exactly_ where I want you. Well...lower would be better, but it'll do, for now."

She responded with an imperious roll of her eyes and stood, offering her hand to help him up despite her annoyance.

"Mages…let that be a lesson to _you_. Don't discredit your more mundane opponents, lest you end up like Anders."

The Commander made her way back to Oghren, who was gesturing emphatically towards Nathaniel. She shook her head and Oghren grumbled audibly.

"He ain't no Antivan _Crow_, but it'd do 'em good to see-"

"Then _you_ do it._"_

Their voices dropped out of range as Oghren pantomimed gestures indicating height and his lack thereof, arguing with her as no other dared to. She finally relented and trudged back to their makeshift ring with a pained expression, beckoning Nathaniel over.

"This just smacks of bad idea…didn't his family wipe hers off the map?" Neria whispered, nudging Anders.

"So the story goes. It'll be fine…I'm sure the Commander has it well in hand."

"She's going to kill him. She's going to kill him and then I shall have _no one_ to lust after until more recruits trickle in."

"What about _me_?"

"Anders, it's not always about looks. Have you heard him _talk_? Not that he does much, but Maker, that voice…such a shame he's about to die."

"Well why don't you just go save him, then?"

The previous sparring sessions had an air of competitiveness, mostly good natured, but this…this felt too real. Nathaniel and the Commander circled each other warily; everything about their movements wrought with tension. The first move was made by the Commander, which Nathaniel parried easily enough but he made no move to strike back. This uneasy dance continued longer than it should have, prompting a growl from the Commander.

"_Fight_…there's nothing to be learned if you don't _fight_."

She threw her dagger to the ground and rushed him, sword raised high. The group of Warden spectators drew a collective breath as Nathaniel stood his ground, arms at his sides. The Commander stopped just short of him, still holding her sword up and met Nathaniel's eyes as she drew in shallow, panting breaths. No words passed between them but Nathaniel shook his head, regarding her with pained eyes.

The Commander dropped her sword to the ground and swung out with her fist, landing a vicious blow against his cheek.

"Fight!"

"No."

She was wild-eyed and sneering as she threw a flurry of punches which Nathaniel made no move to evade. She shoved him angrily and sent him sprawling to the ground, lashing out with a sharp kick to his ribs.

"Get up and fight me! Do you think the darkspawn will leave you alone if you curl up on the ground like the cowardly Howe that you are?"

No one seemed to know what to do- the Commander had never displayed such a loss of control. She was straddling him now, knees on either side of his chest, and raining blows down upon his face, nearly sobbing in her anger. Varel rushed through the gathered crowd and hauled her off of Nathaniel's prone form while she thrashed and struggled against him.

"Commander, stop! You go too far!"

Nathaniel propped himself up and leaned over to spit out a mouthful of blood while the Seneschal held the Commander back. She finally raised her head, the snarling rage immediately morphing into an expression of horror upon viewing the aftermath.

She fought her way out of Varel's grasp and scrambled on hands and knees back to Nathaniel frantically, reaching out with a shaking hand to graze the angry split in his lip, one of the many cuts and scrapes she'd inflicted.

"Why didn't you fight back? I could have killed you, Nat…"

Instead of recoiling from her touch, Nathaniel reached up and took her hand in his, meeting her gaze with the eye that wasn't swelling shut.

"I told you once…I don't want to hurt you. That's still true. If this is what it takes to put things between us to rest, I will suffer it."

He winced when she helped him to his feet, putting his arm around her offered shoulder for support as they limped their way through the crowd of astonished onlookers, disappearing into the Keep.

"Ten sovereigns says she beds him."

Anders couldn't quite quell the rising tendrils of jealousy at the implication, though it would have taken all of the ale, wenches and freedom in Thedas to entice him to trade places with Captain Broodypants right now. Restraint, indeed. Why he gravitated towards the crazy ones, he would never know.

Oghren, having joined them during the fight, wasted no time in shaking on Neria's hasty bet.

"Heh. You're on. You better have the money this time."

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**Authors Note: So...it might **_**seem**_** like Nathaniel takes a lot of abuse in my stories thus far, but I really truly adore him beyond measure...you only hurt the ones you love, right? Also? I suck at mage fights...hope it didn't detract from the story too much.**

**Authors Note 2: I know most people use Nate rather than Nat (I can't even remember which is canon anymore...it's been aaaaaaages since I've played Awakenings) but I prefer the latter. It's the "Witch of Blackbird Pond" fan in me.**


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